Focus
What does it mean to focus? To hone in on something? To put a spotlight on it? To remove all distractions so that the object of our attention can, even for just a minute, be admired - and shine?
That is the focus of my work. To bring our attention to the beauty of the instruments and gear that musicians cherish and bond with. To appreciate the work of the product designers, technicians, luthiers, engineers, and craftsfolk who stand behind the instruments that the world’s music is created through…
It’s in my blood. I guess…
Growing up in a family of musicians, I was surrounded by music, and music gear - everywhere! Our family car was a van (nicknamed “Chippa”), that dutifully transported the “tools of the trade” around the streets of Melbourne. PA racks, guitars, mics, Peavey subs, front-of-house, foldback, mixing desks, keyboards, lighting, and leads. So many leads - always perfectly rolled. You’ve never seen a more well-packed and organised van. Everything - precisely in its place. Early Friday evenings - there would be Dad, guitar case atop the dining table, his white custom “Laz” (guitar) being prepped and pampered for the coming weekend of shows. New strings, a wipe or two of cedar polish into the neck. It was by every definition - a ritual. A ritual for Dad, the Laz, the band, and the people he was soon to entertain. From as young as I can remember, I was a Roadie, helping my Dad & Uncle(s) with set-up in pubs and clubs all over Melbourne, lugging road cases, crates, bags, and boxes through venues still recovering from the night before, dimly lit by that odd juxtaposition of daylight reflecting off walls made for midnight. I would occasionally get to stay and hang out with the “merry” crowds who were partying to the classics the band would deliver, professionally - and joyfully. It always looked like a party. I still remember that rank musty smell of cigarette smoke and beer filling the van that was seemingly glued to the speaker carpet. It was gross. But strangely, I loved it! To me, road-beaten music gear, wreaking, covered in a black patchwork of gaffa tape represented life, joy, people coming together, people having a great time. Even the morning after one of our family’s most difficult moments, a late-night post-gig car accident that put my Dad in hospital for several months with 2 broken legs - there it was, the front of the van, completely crushed and mangled, and yet, there, rock-solid, stable, and dependable stood the gear in the back - perfectly packed and stacked, in its place, ready for another show - to bring people together once more. And so many more shows it played. Thankfully, so too has my Dad!
It’s funny, although it looked like a party, even as a kid I still knew it was a hard life. I would see the countless hours of rehearsal, song programming, and arranging, the physical toll of lugging and playing, the mornings dragging my Dad out of bed to get me to an early basketball match when he’d just climbed in at 5 am after a gig, Despite this, I still saw the passion, the professionalism, the joy of playing. But more subtly, I also saw the connection to, and care for - the gear. The way it was looked after, talked about, repaired - ritualized in some cases. I would hear stories of the great pieces of gear that “got away”, and the excitement for a new piece that had just been released. I witnessed firsthand the sub-story of a musician’s life. That is - for the musician, their gear is their life. Don’t believe me? Come join one of our family gatherings…
As I got older and took to playing music myself, starting with the bass and meandering my way through many different instruments and musical trinkets, I came to understand that my love of making music and sound was (and is) equally matched by my love of the aesthetics of music gear itself. The simplicity of the design, the complexity of the craftsmanship. I know it’s mostly engineering, but seeing something so aesthetically pleasing that is equally capable of producing something so pleasing to the ear is the stuff of magic. Change my mind. We don’t fall in love with computers or TVs, there’s just nothing special about them. But re-arrange those circuit boards, add controls that a musician can express their individuality through, and you have the beginnings of something special. Find the Trinity of looks, feel, and tone, and you have love. And when musicians fall in love with their gear, it becomes part of them. This love for instruments is part of who I am. Where I have come from - and where I am going to. Aesthetic Aud.io is that part of me - captured in visual form - through one of my other loves - photography.
Lyndon Apthorpe